service,” Alex continued, “but I didn’t return until the day I got fired. I was so angry.”
Talk about an understatement.
“But I felt a wave of calm as I looked up at the bell tower. The stained-glass windows had been restored, the brickwork sandblasted, the roof re-shingled. And his oak tree was still there, twelve feet high and surrounded by perennials. The church must have looked like that a hundred years earlier, when the first service was held.”
He let them linger over the image, of young families and elders in their best clothes, walking in dignified groups to the church they’d banded together to build.
“When I looked at the tower I thought,
At least somebody has made their community a better place
. Then I realized what should have been obvious. The building wasn’t an actual church anymore. Some developer had converted it into condos. I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut.
“Why did I feel so gutted? Churches were closing all over the city—why shouldn’t the beautiful buildings be putto use?” He gripped Jane’s hand. He was struggling to articulate a swath of emotions he couldn’t wrestle into the usual categories, and he instinctively sought her help. “I saw that it was a continuation of a bigger pattern. When the manufacturing jobs went overseas, developers turned the factories and warehouses into lofts and office spaces—you can’t compete in the new knowledge-economy without an address in a former foundry or dry-goods warehouse. Once the industrial buildings were converted, they went after the old churches.” He shook his head, chastising himself for not seeing it coming, and took a swig of his beer. “You know how suburban streets are named after the natural landmarks they paved over? It’s the same with church condos: Abbey Lofts, The Priory, Glebe Space. This place was called The Rectory! Never mind if the actual rectory was torn down decades ago—it
sounds
churchy.”
Joseph felt exposed by the clarity of Alex’s outrage, but the rest of the diners weren’t feeling it. Jane stared blankly—back at her early days with Alex, or maybe forward into the evening, when she could drink with her friends. Mike was reading a text message. Even Julian and Amber fidgeted in their seats.
“It was a glimpse of the future,” Alex said, a little more desperately. “In ten years, when the loyal soldiers of the global management class have filled up all the old churches, the developers will turn the legislature buildings into condos. Why not? Politicians would love the cash infusion from selling off the real estate. Democracy Towers, Legislature Lofts, Ordinance Hall—turrets, columns, period light fixtures, and wainscoting memorializing the democraticimpulse.” He lingered on the face of each guest, as if to acknowledge their shared plight.
“Last time I checked we still live in a democracy,” Mike said.
“True.” Alex gave the
r
a short roll, mimicking the acrobatics of his parents’ mother tongue. His family had moved back to Finland for a few years when he was five, long enough for him to acquire a faint, floating accent that Mike accused him of using like an eighteen-point font—
Finnaca sans serif
—to underscore a point with European gravitas. “But when people have no say over economic decisions, they no longer live in a democracy. Every major economic decision for the last quarter-century has been made in anonymous towers in Brussels, Hong Kong, Davos, Houston.” His face had a strange, sweat-less glow. “Power has liberated itself from geography.”
Never had the word
geography
—Joseph’s favourite subject in grade school—sounded so ominous. Alex was right, but why dam the stream of good feelings by rubbing everyone’s faces in the evils of global neo-liberalism? Did he want to hear their own despairing anecdotes? They all had them—they were the first downwardly mobile generation since the Great Depression.
“The government buildings are still
Talk about an understatement.
“But I felt a wave of calm as I looked up at the bell tower. The stained-glass windows had been restored, the brickwork sandblasted, the roof re-shingled. And his oak tree was still there, twelve feet high and surrounded by perennials. The church must have looked like that a hundred years earlier, when the first service was held.”
He let them linger over the image, of young families and elders in their best clothes, walking in dignified groups to the church they’d banded together to build.
“When I looked at the tower I thought,
At least somebody has made their community a better place
. Then I realized what should have been obvious. The building wasn’t an actual church anymore. Some developer had converted it into condos. I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut.
“Why did I feel so gutted? Churches were closing all over the city—why shouldn’t the beautiful buildings be putto use?” He gripped Jane’s hand. He was struggling to articulate a swath of emotions he couldn’t wrestle into the usual categories, and he instinctively sought her help. “I saw that it was a continuation of a bigger pattern. When the manufacturing jobs went overseas, developers turned the factories and warehouses into lofts and office spaces—you can’t compete in the new knowledge-economy without an address in a former foundry or dry-goods warehouse. Once the industrial buildings were converted, they went after the old churches.” He shook his head, chastising himself for not seeing it coming, and took a swig of his beer. “You know how suburban streets are named after the natural landmarks they paved over? It’s the same with church condos: Abbey Lofts, The Priory, Glebe Space. This place was called The Rectory! Never mind if the actual rectory was torn down decades ago—it
sounds
churchy.”
Joseph felt exposed by the clarity of Alex’s outrage, but the rest of the diners weren’t feeling it. Jane stared blankly—back at her early days with Alex, or maybe forward into the evening, when she could drink with her friends. Mike was reading a text message. Even Julian and Amber fidgeted in their seats.
“It was a glimpse of the future,” Alex said, a little more desperately. “In ten years, when the loyal soldiers of the global management class have filled up all the old churches, the developers will turn the legislature buildings into condos. Why not? Politicians would love the cash infusion from selling off the real estate. Democracy Towers, Legislature Lofts, Ordinance Hall—turrets, columns, period light fixtures, and wainscoting memorializing the democraticimpulse.” He lingered on the face of each guest, as if to acknowledge their shared plight.
“Last time I checked we still live in a democracy,” Mike said.
“True.” Alex gave the
r
a short roll, mimicking the acrobatics of his parents’ mother tongue. His family had moved back to Finland for a few years when he was five, long enough for him to acquire a faint, floating accent that Mike accused him of using like an eighteen-point font—
Finnaca sans serif
—to underscore a point with European gravitas. “But when people have no say over economic decisions, they no longer live in a democracy. Every major economic decision for the last quarter-century has been made in anonymous towers in Brussels, Hong Kong, Davos, Houston.” His face had a strange, sweat-less glow. “Power has liberated itself from geography.”
Never had the word
geography
—Joseph’s favourite subject in grade school—sounded so ominous. Alex was right, but why dam the stream of good feelings by rubbing everyone’s faces in the evils of global neo-liberalism? Did he want to hear their own despairing anecdotes? They all had them—they were the first downwardly mobile generation since the Great Depression.
“The government buildings are still
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